


Distance

by ronsenburg



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 02:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11637048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronsenburg/pseuds/ronsenburg
Summary: Prompto knows it would be easiest for him to move here, to settle into Ignis’s life and the soft sheets of his bed permanently, but the thought of leaving the warm waters and sunsets of California for the city that sprawls outside Ignis’s windows makes him fidget with sudden anxiety. He isn’t sure if it is the change of scenery or the fear of agitating the fragility of their current arrangement that causes it. Either way, it seems better not to risk it.Or, Los Angeles based Prompto unexpectedly visits Ignis in New York and considers what life might be like without an entire country's worth of distance between them.





	Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Another AU no one asked for. Someone mentioned long distance relationships and I tripped and fell on my keyboard. I’m a Chicago girl, so please excuse the descriptions of LA and New York if they’re not entirely accurate. Mood is the guitar on [Richard Edward’s Lil’ Dead Eye-d](https://open.spotify.com/track/1H4Q8gsNSJLviiLfOY2JVy) because I was listening to it on repeat last time I was in New York and the soft, sad harmonies are beautiful and fit even if the lyrics don’t.

New York is cold.

Prompto stands in front of Ignis’s building, shivering violently in his hoodie and jeans as the rain pours down around the leaking plastic canopy above him. He hadn’t packed a jacket- hadn’t packed much of anything, really, other than a change of clothes and a few extra pairs of socks. He’s beginning to regret the fact now.

The building towers in front of him, painting quite the imposing picture with its barred lobby windows and rough gray stone façade that matches the color of the angry sky. He remembers it having been far more welcoming than it appears now. Prompto’s fingers hover over the plastic nameplates set next to the door, hesitating at the top when he reaches the name _Scientia_ spelled out in Ignis’s neat handwriting.

For the first time since he stepped onto the plane in Los Angeles, Prompto considers that this might not have been the best of ideas. Ignis might not be home, after all. He might even have other guests. But it had been hard to stay entirely rational when he’d uncovered a box of old photos tucked away in the back of his closet. Most were landscapes, artistically filtered shots of the sun setting over the hills or various, nameless faces mingling through midday crowds, but somewhere near the bottom Prompto had found an envelope and several rolls of film marked “road trip” in big, sloppy letters. Inside was an album’s worth of loose photos taken over the course of two weeks when they’d made a vacation out of packing up Noct’s apartment and moving him out east. Scattered among the selfies and shaky shots taken through a rolled down car window was Ignis, laughing in the front seat and suddenly Prompto’s heart had ached.

He’d caught the next flight out.

Prompto sighs and presses the buzzer, shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously as he waits.

After a long pause, Ignis’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Yes?” he asks with the curt intonation of someone who is not expecting guests.

“Hey Iggy.” Prompto replies, feeling a bit sheepish as he fidgets in the cold. “Surprise?”

There is a beat of silence before Ignis responds, “…Prompto?”

“Can I come up?”

The loud sound of buzzing seems to echo off the buildings around him and Prompto pulls hard on the metal door.

*

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” Ignis says, five flights of stairs later when Prompto sets his small suitcase down roughly on the floor. Ignis stands in the open doorway, dressed casually in dark jeans and a pale blue collared shirt with the top button undone. Prompto’s heart skips a beat at the sight; it takes all the self-control he possesses not to fall into Ignis’s arms right there in the hallway. He wonders if the neighbors would mind.

Instead he gives a small, embarrassed laugh and shrugs. “I didn’t really know I was coming either.”

Warmth radiates from Ignis’s apartment as Prompto steps inside and out of his wet shoes. Inside, at least, hasn’t changed much since last time he was here. The place is small in the most comfortable sense dominated by a kitchen decidedly too large for the apartment’s footprint, the marble covered island acting as a focal point for the entire room. There isn’t much by the way of decoration, just a few framed art prints and several of Prompto’s photos scattered across the stark white walls, but the whole thing still seems like an image out of a magazine.

“You could’ve called,” Ignis says, closing the door with a gentle click behind Prompto. “I could’ve sent someone to pick you up.”

“I thought you might say no.”

“Have I ever?”

Prompto smiles and steps forward, resting his arms on Ignis’s shoulders. “Plenty of times,” he teases, “you’re just too polite to say it outright.”

Ignis hums in acknowledgment, settling his hands on the small of Prompto’s back in return. “I have to be at the restaurant tonight,” he mumbles apologetically, “You’re welcome to stay here if you’d like.”

Prompto shakes his head, “Nah, I’ll come with.”

Ignis smiles.

They walk through the brightly lit streets side by side under the cover of one old umbrella, one of Ignis’s jackets draped over Prompto’s shoulders. Ignis tucks his cane under his arm, allowing Prompto to guide him through the busy streets, though Prompto thinks it is more for his benefit than Ignis’s. The other man directs him more often than not, telling him when and where to turn, calling his attention back when Prompto is momentarily distracted by the myriad of people who cross their path.

New York overwhelms Prompto. It stretches out around him in all directions like a densely packed labyrinth, a mosaic of crumbling old buildings set among the sparkling new, each filled to the brim with people pressing around as far as his eyes can see. He’s become used to the relaxed air of Los Angeles, where people only seem to crowd the beachfront and mingle along the boardwalks with an aimless, carefree air, their only purpose to enjoy the breeze that floats in from the ocean. Everyone here seems to be in a hurry, darting around each other and across streets with a determination that Prompto can’t seem to understand. He wonders how Ignis manages.

There is already a line queued outside the restaurant when they arrive. Ignis doesn’t take reservations- a subtle slight to the city’s elite- but the fact keeps the place less exclusive and always busy. They enter through an unassuming door in the back, and Prompto is quickly introduced to a host of chefs and servers whose names he forgets almost as soon as they are given. He shakes their hands anyway, grateful for their friendly smiles, before Ignis steers him out into the dining room.

“Thoughts?” he asks, and Prompto is fairly certain he can hear a note of uncertainty in his tone. Prompto understands. It isn’t Ignis’s first restaurant, but it is the first since the accident. Ignis had only just negotiated the rent on this location last time Prompto had been to New York. He has seen pictures posted among the restaurant reviews he had searched online, but it is surprisingly different in person. Prompto takes a step into the room and away from Ignis and turns slowly, admiring. The space is both comfortable and modern, set with abundant warm, dim lights that cast an intimate atmosphere over a sea of industrial style decor. Bits of steel pipe and copper accents glint around the room and lighten the weight of the dark, roughly hewn tables.

“It’s amazing,” Prompto says sincerely and Ignis scoffs lightly, “No, really. I love it, Iggy.”

“Noctis helped,” Ignis supplies, “The glass menu boards were his idea.”

Prompto swallows a small pang of jealousy and smiles, “You guys did great.”

Ignis shows him to a seat at the bar, close enough to the kitchen that Prompto can hear the sound of his voice rising over the clattering of pots and pans as he addresses his staff. Prompto resists the urge to follow, to slip his arms around Ignis’s waist and press his cheek to the other man’s back while he cooks, like they used to years ago when an entire country hadn’t separated them. Ignis doesn’t cook much at this point, his presence more for guidance than anything else, but Prompto still finds himself straining to catch glimpses of him working through the small window to the kitchen.

Before long, the doors open and a steady stream of customers fill up the space. Prompto watches them idly from his seat, fingers itching for the camera he’d left back in Ignis’s apartment. From time to time, Ignis appears with a small army of servers from the kitchen, placing dish after impeccably plated dish in front of him to try along with the correct pairing of wine. Most of them are so pretty that Prompto feels like he’s destroying a piece of artwork when he digs his fork in.

After the third set of dishes have been cleared away and a warm feeling of complacency has settled over him, Prompto can’t help leaning across the bar, kissing Ignis gently and delighting in the way the other man smiles against his lips. The couple sitting next to him glances over with curious eyes, but Prompto is too content to be embarrassed and Ignis doesn’t seem to mind.

They take a cab home at the end of the night. Prompto ignores the questions from the driver in the front seat, too distracted pressing warm kisses against the edge of Ignis’s jaw to pay any attention to the city lights that speed by outside the window.

Ignis chuckles and gently removes Prompto’s fingers from where they have begun undoing the buttons on his shirt, instead lacing their fingers together and kissing Prompto’s knuckles softly. “Tomorrow,” he promises, voice low, and Prompto shivers.

He falls asleep that night in a sea of down blankets, content in the warm circle of Ignis’s arms.

*

Prompto is awakened the next morning by the feeling of a soft weight settling on the edge of the bed. For a moment, he’s convinced it is Ignis returning to wake him and rolls over to make room. But the weight shifts along the center of the bed, stepping lightly onto his chest. Prompto opens his eyes and finds himself staring into the face of a large cat with bright green eyes and long, white fur dusted with dark brown and orange patches. It mews at him demandingly and presses its head into his hand as he reaches up to stroke it.

“You have a cat now?” he asks Ignis when he arrives in the kitchen, the cat following at his heels. The smell of something baking, sweet and warm, drifts from the oven and makes Prompto’s stomach growl audibly.

“Paprika.” Ignis confirms with a nod. It takes Prompto a moment to realize that Ignis is telling him the name of the cat, not asking for Prompto to fetch him a spice from the pantry, “I’m told the name suits her rather well.”

The cat pads its way across the kitchen, pausing to press the length of her body languidly against the back of Ignis’s legs. He smiles, reaching down to offer her a small piece of bacon, which she sniffs before daintily biting and bounds off toward the fire escape outside the open window.

The entire exchange is so domestic that Prompto can’t suppress the wide smile that steals across his face, “I didn’t think you were a cat person.”

“I’m not. She followed me home from the restaurant one day and hasn’t left,” he says, a small smile turning up the corner of his own lips, “much like someone else I know.”

Prompto laughs and shoves Ignis’s shoulder gently, earning him a wider smile in return. Momentarily emboldened, he reaches forward, dodging the spatula that swipes at his fingers as he steals his own piece of bacon directly from the pan and turns to pour himself a cup of coffee. Task accomplished, he climbs onto the counter next to the stove, feet swinging idly below him as he watches Ignis cook.

“How long are you staying?” Ignis asks eventually over the soft sound of frying.

Prompto pretends to consider, humming gently. “Forever?” he jokes, grinning around the bacon currently burning his tongue.

“That could be arranged,” Ignis chuckles. For a moment Prompto is silent, lost in daydreams of waking up this way every morning, instead of to his cold bed and empty apartment back home. As if reading his mind, Ignis adds, “There _are_ photography jobs in New York, you know.”

Prompto snorts gently into his coffee in response, “And people need to eat in L.A. too.”

Ignis frowns at the pan in front of him and Prompto instantly regrets his reply.

He knows what Ignis is going to say before he has even opened his mouth. _‘The restaurant is at a critical stage right now, leaving right now would be impossible,’_ or something similar enough. It’s a conversation they’ve had enough times over the years that Prompto can walk through the steps of the argument almost as though it were a well-rehearsed dance. It’s a conversation that leaves Prompto feeling cold and unreasonable, ultimately not _enough_ , though he knows those kinds of thoughts are unfair.

It would be easiest for him to move here, to settle into Ignis’s life and the soft sheets of his bed permanently, but if Ignis recognizes this, he is tactful enough to never point it out. Admittedly, Prompto toys with the idea from time to time, but the thought of leaving the warm waters and sunsets of California for the city that sprawls outside Ignis’s windows makes him fidget with sudden anxiety. He isn’t sure if it is the change of scenery or the fear of agitating the fragility of their current arrangement that causes it. Either way, it seems better not to risk it.

Instead, Prompto grabs Ignis by his belt loops, tugging slightly to turn him before pressing their lips together in a kiss he hopes serves as an apology.

Ignis presses his lips gently to Prompto’s forehead in return when they part, and turns back to his pan.

They don’t bring up moving again.

*

Ignis takes the day off. He offers to take Prompto to central park, but they somehow never make it out the door, instead falling into bed repeatedly until Ignis gives up on suggesting they leave. The sound of traffic filters in through the partially open windows along with the overcast light, and Prompto drifts in and out of sleep, his heart full. 

*

He leaves the next morning.

Ignis stands with him at the curb, holding an umbrella against the soft drops of rain that have begun to fall again, as they wait for a driver to arrive.

“Are you certain you don’t want me to accompany you?” he asks.

“C’mon, Iggy,” Prompto laughs, “It’s just the airport. I can handle it.”

Ignis nods. They’re both aware it’s not exactly the truth, that Prompto would like nothing more than to spend another half hour with his hand tucked safely into Ignis’s, but it’s easier for them both to say their goodbyes here. Ignis opens his mouth slightly, before closing it with a gentle frown, and Prompto bites his bottom lip.

He wonders if actually saying the words would change things for either of them.

“Noct’ll be back from London next month,” he says instead, “You’re coming to the party Gladio and I are throwing, right?”

Ignis’s regards him with a small, sad smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.“

Moments later, the car arrives, tires squealing slightly as it pulls to a stop beside the curb. Prompto steps to meet it, placing his bag in the trunk before turning to call his final goodbye with a small wave that is more a matter of habit. Ignis stays at the curb even after they have pulled away; Prompto watches him through the back window until the car reaches the corner and Ignis is suddenly lost from sight.

Around him the city speeds by, a sea of faces blending together as they accelerate.

Prompto shivers, suddenly cold.

**Author's Note:**

> If you already saw this posted on my tumblr, sorry for the repeat! I was hoping my first AO3 submission would be something a little more exciting, but it is what it is. Hopefully I did it right! If you didn't see this on my tumblr, but would maybe like to, [feel free to come hang out](http://ronsenburg.tumblr.com/). Thank you so much for reading!!!!! ♡ ♡ ♡


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